


Assassin

by embulance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amorality, Assassin Harry Potter, Blood, Character Bashing, Dark Harry Potter, Dumbledore Bashing, Everyone sucks, F/F, F/M, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Harry is a Snarky Shit, Harry takes no shit, I don't think you understand how many snakes are gonna be in this shit, I use too many tags, Independent Harry, Lots of Snakes, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Parseltongue, People Gon Die, Powerful Harry Potter, Prompt Fill, Sane Voldemort, Sass Master Harry, Slash, Smart Harry, Snakes, Tattooed Harry Potter, Tbh everyone in this story is kinda gonna be a piece of shit, Thief Harry, Threesome - M/M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Weasley Bashing, just... snakes., light bashing, like so many snakes, like the light sucks, the dark sucks, these tags are all over the place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4780415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embulance/pseuds/embulance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry ran away from the Dursleys as a young child. Aged 15, he hasn’t gone to Hogwarts because the letters can’t find him if he keeps moving. As he keeps moving, he finds a rather… unusual mentor to teach him a worrisome art.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue One

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Wizards_Vs_Muggles](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Wizards_Vs_Muggles) collection. 



> This is the first prologue, just to explain everything that happened before the story's current events. There will be one more prologue after this that I've already started-- hopefully I'll finish it tomorrow.

Harry is six when he first speaks with a snake.

He is working in the garden when he hears the annoyed hissing. “Who is messing with Shieyish’s home? Shieyish will bite whoever it is!” A little green snake peeks out of the bush that Harry is working in. “Stupid human, messing with Shieyish’s home! Shieyish will teach you a lesson!”

“No, you will not teach me a lesson!” Harry grumbles, crossing his arms and staring angrily at the snake. “This is my job and I was here first! These are my bushes. I should teach _you_ a lesson for trying to live in my bush!”

It only occurs to him after he says that that snakes don’t talk.

But apparently this one does, because the little green snake rears back in apparent shock and lets out a wordless hiss before he responds loudly. “A speaker? Shieyish thought that speakers were just tales for hatchlings! Speak, speaker, and tell Shieyish where you learned parseltongue!”

Harry assumes that the snake is talking to him.

“I didn’t learn it?”

Shieyish hisses again, slithering closer to Harry until he is only a few feet away from the skinny child and studying him closely. “How strange! Did your family not teach you?”

Harry thinks of the Dursleys and scowls. “I have no family,” he spits irritably.

“You live here with the fat ones, do you not?” Shieyish asks curiously. “Are they not your nest mates?”

Harry snorts in disgust. “I want nothing to do with them. They are no family of mine.”

The green snake laughs slightly, or at least Harry thinks he is laughing; at the very least, the snake is making very short hissing sounds over and over. “Take me with you, speaker. I wish to make my travels with you from now on.”

Harry shrugs and holds out his hand, thinking the cupboard may be more interesting with someone to make conversation with. Shieyish quickly curls around the slender wrist, making a pleased sound. “Alright, but if you get caught by the Dursleys it’s on you,” Harry states, returning to working the garden.

“Why do you not make the fat ones do it?” Shieyish grumbles. “They clearly eat too many mice and do not work enough.”

Harry laughs.

\---

“Freak, come here!” The shrill tones of Aunt Petunia’s voice drag Harry away from his conversation with Shieyish; he tells the snake he’ll be back when he can and rushes inside.

His aunt is tapping her foot impatiently; she stands by the door and glares at him. “You’ve spent long enough on the garden, boy; if you’ve not finished by now, then you’ll just be getting extra lashings when Vernon gets home. Get inside and get to preparing the roast for dinner. I want everything perfect for my Diddydums; he’s probably just starving after a long day at school.”

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry drones, and heads into the kitchen.

The roast is perfect, just as Harry was commanded, but Dudley throws a tantrum because he wanted fish and chips. Harry pays the price with five lashings from the belt. He doesn’t make a sound when he is punished. This is nothing to him anymore.

Vernon throws Harry in his cupboard roughly, and Harry sighs and takes off his shirt, running his fingers over the marks that he can reach. A few have broken the skin and the boy grumbles under his breath as he lies down on his stomach to sleep. Those are going to scar.

\---

A few weeks have passed, and Harry has met a few more snakes, Shieyish’s hatchmates and friends. One of them, Shishisha, is far older than Shieyish and has some knowledge of speakers beyond tales told to Shieyish as a hatchling; she tells dazzling tales of a tall speaker who wears dark, flowing cloaks and preforms amazing feats of magic with a pale wand.

She speaks of his talent of magic without a wand as well; how he could wave a hand and hiss their language and things would happen as he commanded. Parselmagic, she calls it, and Harry asks if he can do it too.

Shishisha doesn’t know.

“You are the only other speaker I have ever met, hatchling. Perhaps you could. You are probably a wizard after all—you smell of the dark one’s magic.”

Had someone informed Harry that he was a wizard a few weeks earlier, he would have accused them of lying, but then again, had someone told Harry that he could speak to snakes a few weeks earlier, he would have accused them of lying.

Harry resolves to learn this parselmagic immediately; he could do chores much faster if he could just command them to do it.

\---

“Time for Harry hunting!” Dudley exclaims cheerfully, rubbing his hands together and grinning evilly.

Harry doesn’t wait for his cousin to say anything else; he’s already sprinted away as fast as he can. He dodges down a side-street and curses—he forgot there was a fence at the end. He doesn’t think he can climb it fast enough but he still resolves to try, hoping and praying his cousin and his idiot cronies will trip and buy him sometime.

“Trip… just fall,” he hisses under his breath as he climbs up the chain-link fence.

As he jumps over the top of the fence, he doesn’t look back, and so he doesn’t see his cousin trip over nothing.

\---

A few more weeks pass and Harry has managed a few simple commands, moving a few various objects and unlocking doors. Shieyish is wholly unimpressed, snickering and reminding him at every turn of the things the dark one could do with his magic. Shishisha, on the other hand, cheers him on and praises him constantly. Harry jokingly calls her mother only for her to laugh.

“You are my beloved hatchling, little one,” she says, voice full of warmth.

Shieyish snickers at him until Shishisha whacks him with her tail. “Shush, now, you are my hatchling too.”

Harry giggles and flicks his hand at a flower, magic plucking it from the ground as he wills it to float to him. “Yes, brother, do shush,” he snorts, quickly losing his focus on the flower. It slowly flutters to the ground, but the boy does not notice—he’s laughing too much to care.

He lays there on the ground, chatting happily with the two snakes until the shrill voice of his aunt calls him back home to make a dinner that he won’t get to eat.

\---

“Boy, get your ass in here!” Vernon bellows in a rage.

Harry scurries into the room, and Vernon grabs the boy by his hair and drags him over to the living room and points at a broken vase. “What the hell is this, freak?”

“I—It’s a broken vase, Uncle Vernon—“ Harry stutters out, torn between fury at his uncle and cousin (for he knows they both know that Dudley did this; not Harry) and terror.

Vernon tosses the boy at the broken glass with an incoherent snarl, ignoring the pained cry as Harry stumbles into the glass, hands and knees digging into the shards of glass and tearing his palms and knees to shreds. “Clean it the hell up, freak, and then get in your cupboard. No meals for a week.”

As Harry picks the pieces of glass out of his hands and knees, he simmers in his anger, and hopes that something horrid happens to his uncle and cousin.

The next day, Vernon gets a hefty fine for a speeding ticket and Dudley gets caught beating up another student by a teacher at school and gets into massive amounts of trouble.

Harry never finds out.

\---

“Why do you always come back to us tasting of blood, speaker?” Shieyish asks one day.

The dark-haired boy shakes his head and holds out his hand to the snake. “The fat ones are easily upset,” he responds softly as Shieyish wraps himself around the frail wrist. “It does not matter; they’ll get what’s coming to them one day.”

Shieyish lets out an angry hiss, coiling tighter around Harry. “You should teach them not to mess with you any longer, speaker!” The snake is clearly furious. “Use your parselmagic and defend yourself! You are better than them; you have power—use it! A snake when threatened should not sit idly by, and you are one of us—do not allow the fat ones to hurt you any longer! Destroy them if that’s what it takes to protect yourself.”

Harry sighs, running soothing fingers over Shieyish’s scales. “I’ll think about it, okay, brother?”

Shieyish hisses softly but says nothing more.

\---

Weeks pass and Harry simmers in anger and hate.

“Boy!” Vernon barks at his nephew, voice slurred and clutching to a bottle of whiskey. “You ruin everything.”

Harry sighs, really just getting tired of this by now. “Yes, Uncle,” he murmurs, sounding bored. He can’t be bothered to really care about his uncle’s insults. He’s still thinking on what Shieyish said earlier. _Use your parselmagic and defend yourself…_ He had told Harry. The boy couldn’t deny how appealing it sounded, showing the Dursleys their place and refusing to take their brutality anymore.

Vernon, apparently displeased with his nephew’s apathy towards the situation, struck out at Harry, knocking the small boy to the floor.

Green eyes narrowed in anger as he sat up and reached up to hold his head.

This was getting ridiculous.

Vernon kicked at the boy this time with what looked to be heavy boots, and if Harry hadn’t scrambled back fast enough, the blow would have caught him in the ribs.

“Enough,” Harry snarls, raising the hand that’s not cradling his head. “Move,” he commands, waving his hand and throwing the man towards the table. The table collapses under his heavy weight with a loud crack, but Harry pays it no mind, going to Petunia’s purse on the hook by the door and rummaging through it.

The fat man gets up surprisingly fast for someone of his size and follows Harry quickly. “What the hell do you think you are doing, freak?!” Vernon demands furiously.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Harry scoffs. “I’m _leaving_.” He pulls out Petunia’s wallet and pulls out several crumpled bills and several coins and counting it. Nearly three hundred pounds—Petunia was likely going to use it for shopping the next day.

“Don’t sass me, you little thief!” Vernon growls. He raises a hand as though he was planning to strike Harry.

Again, emerald eyes narrow. “Was once not enough for you?” He asks, voice dark. “Move,” he hisses, waving a hand in his uncle’s direction. The man flies back, past Harry’s cupboard and into the kitchen, slamming into a wall with a loud crack. Several plates on display fall from the impact, shattering around Vernon and apparently waking Dudley and Petunia as Dudley peers down the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes and the thin woman rushes down the stairs.

“Freak, what did you _do_?” She shrieks upon seeing her husband’s prone form.

“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” Harry spits angrily, heading to the back door, only to be blocked by Petunia.

The woman holds a shard of glass in her hand from one of the fallen plates and looks quite wild in that moment.

Harry tilts his head to the side. “Are you… threatening me?” He asks, voice soft. “Do you wish for me to do to you what I’ve done to your whale of a husband? I think you would fare far worse; after all, you are far smaller.” He frowns. “Let me go, and you’ll not have to deal with me ever again. Won’t that benefit us all?” He points out quietly.

“You attacked my husband,” Petunia answers, voice shaking—whether from rage or fear or perhaps both, Harry cannot tell.

“Yes, I did,” Harry answers simply. “He was drunk and he would have hurt me and I have no desire to play these power games with you and your family any longer. So yes, I attacked your husband.”

“You’ve damaged my home.”

“It was necessary.” Harry responds dismissively. “Now, are you going to move, or will I have to move you myself?”

Petunia’s gaze flickers between her husband and her nephew for a moment before she slowly steps to the side.

“Good.” Harry says, smiling slightly.

He steps outside and calls out for Shishisha and Shieyish, and once he collects the two of them, he sets off down the street, one snake curled around each wrist and a smile on his face.

It’s time to begin a new chapter.


	2. Prologue Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, over 100 kudos? I've never got such an amazing response on a fic before! Thank you so much everyone! 
> 
> In other news, this was getting to be ridiculously long, so I've had to split the second prologue in two.
> 
> Also, snarky Harry is snarky

A few years pass, and Harry has long since learned how to tell parseltongue from normal speech. He’s eleven now, and he’s been on the run for over five years, never staying in one place for longer than a day—since the strange letters have started coming, he doesn’t stay in one place longer than a few hours. Magic might be real—yes, this he does not doubt, but he does not trust this Hogwarts at all. He’s been told of it, heard stories from snakes about it, and even met a few muggleborns and squibs who have taught him a few things here and there—and from their stories, all he has learned is that he does not trust this Albus Dumbledore and he does not want to go to this Hogwarts.

“ _Harry,_ ” Shieyish hisses.

Harry stiffens, worried. Shieyish has never referred to him as anything but ‘speaker’ before. “ _Shieyish? What is wrong?_ ” He questions in a soft hiss, ducking into an alleyway. He is in London this week, travelling the city by bus and pick-pocketing left and right, collecting coins and bills alike; more than enough to get him a nice dinner and many bus rides, and later, a taxi to the next town that he’ll stay in for a few days. His magic makes it easy for him; he doesn’t even have to be near a person to summon the money to him, or he can persuade them using what he calls his magic voice—Shishisha calls it the imperious, but Harry doesn’t see it as an unforgivable—he’s just trying to survive.

“ _There is a man who tastes of magic following us—_ “

“ _He tastes like the dark one, yet… he is not…”_ Shishisha sounds confused, like she does not know what she is scenting in the air.

Harry spins around, eyes narrowed. “Who’s there?” He demands, voice harsh and unhesitating.

A man dressed in maroon robes and a turban shimmers and slowly appears, clapping slowly. A high voice speaks, though the man’s mouth does not move. “Very nice, little parseltongue. I’m impressed.”

“ _Little one, I would not mess with this one…the dark one is out of your league…”_ Shishisha murmurs anxiously.

“Who are you?” Harry snaps, ignoring the man’s statement—quite frankly, he’s unnerved by the man, the way he spoke without moving his mouth; something told him it wasn’t ventriloquism. “If you’re one of those Hogwarts people, I already sent several letters telling you that I don’t want to go—“

“ _Speaker… remember what Shishisha said—_ “ Shieyish’s voice is worried.

Harry doesn’t respond; he’s glancing around, looking for a way to escape the man. Sucking in a breath, he closes his eyes for a split second and then runs straight for the man. Just as the man reacts, Harry dives past his outstretched arm and dashes around the corner, quickly blending into the crowd on the London streets.

The man in maroon smiles.

“You were right, master. He is the one we need.”

\---

After wandering around for an hour or two, Harry decides to go to the Leaky Cauldron for a bit. After running into that man, he and Shieyish decide that it would be for the best to leave London, but leaving London means that he won’t be able to have access to anything magical until he returns and there were things he wanted to get while he was here to make things easier.

He ducks into a restroom in a restaurant after ordering a hamburger and disguises himself quickly, pulling out concealer and smearing it over his scar and pulling out a cheap blond wig and carefully tucking long black hair into it and brushing it out while grimacing at the poor state of his bag. Shaking his head, he studies himself in the mirror. The blond hair does a well-enough job of hiding him since his face is not well-known—thanks to the warnings from various snakes telling him of his fame within the wizarding world.

He steps out of the bathroom and makes his way to the Leaky Cauldron, all the while cursing the man in maroon—he keeps glancing over his shoulder, paranoid that he is being followed. A short walk, no more than a block, leaves him standing outside the wizarding pub. He sighs and heads on in.

The pub is crowded—good fortune for Harry, who will need someone to open the gateway for him. He heads on back and waits for someone to come out and open the wall. Five minutes pass and a witch in red robes comes along and taps on the bricks, not even noticing Harry, who is quite good at blending into the background. He ducks into Diagon Alley right behind her and heads straight to Gringotts. He needs to exchange some money for galleons.

\---

The bank is quick and efficient, just as Harry remembers from his last trip a few years ago, and it takes only a few moments for him to exchange one hundred and fifty pounds for thirty galleons—the goblins don’t waste time like many shopkeepers (“Where’s your mummy at, little boy?”), they just take his money and give him the money he wants without fuss. Harry likes the goblins.

First he stops at Madam Malkin’s and purchases a pair of black dragon-hide boots for ten galleons and a pair of matching dragon-hide gloves for six. Satisfied that he won’t need to replace his shoes or gloves for all of winter at the very least, he leaves the shop after politely thanking the witch and then lying and claiming his mother was at the shop next door. He shoves the purchases in his ratty bag and heads to the trunk shop to see if they have bags—he’s hoping to find one that’s bottomless and sturdier than the cheap bag he bought at a secondhand shop.

At the shop he ends up being lucky—they have exactly what he’s looking for. A nice black canvas bag with anti-theft charms, waterproof charms and undetectable extension charms—Harry feels pretty good when he gets it for five galleons. **[1]**

Pleased with his purchases, Harry quickly flees the alley and flags down a taxi.

“Can you take me to Bristol, please?”

The taxi driver seems reluctant to take a young kid that far, but once Harry uses his magic voice, he stops protesting and does as he is told. Harry changes into his new boots and gloves and moves all his extra clothing and such into his new bag after throwing his wig at the bottom of the bag (hopefully he won’t need it for a while; it’s not pleasant to wear since it’s quite itchy). With that done, he settles back for a nap after telling the taxi driver to wake him when they’re near Bristol.

\---

“Sir, we’re a few kilometers outside Bristol,” the cab driver speaks in a flat tone; Harry can tell his magic voice still has a strong hold on the man—he must have had a rather weak will for it to hold so strongly while Harry’s not really focusing.

“Mm, take me to the nearest bus stop,” he commands.

A few minutes pass in silence—Shieyish is asleep, Shishisha has hidden herself in Harry’s new bag for the time being, and Harry has no desire to make conversation with the cabbie. The cabbie pulls up to the bus stop and Harry gets out, leaving his old shoes and bag and not bothering to pay the cabbie. It’s not like he’ll care anyways; he can’t even really think for himself right now anyways. It’s not his problem if it causes problems for the man later; that money can buy him a rest or two in a shady pub or a few good meals and he’d have to be stupid to give it away when he doesn’t have to. He prods at Shieyish until he wakes.

“ _What do you think we should do?_ ” Harry asks the snake.

Shieyish just hisses grumpily, not appreciating the rude wake up call.

Harry pouts and starts walking down the street.

\---

The next few hours pass with very little conversation; both Harry and Shieyish not really speaking to each other and instead pouting like the children they are. At some point, Shishisha peeks her head out of the bag and makes her way on to Harry’s shoulder and curling around his neck, occasionally giggling at how childish the two are. Suddenly, Shieyish perks up, looking around.

“ _I smell the same magic one from earlier, speaker—he is very near—_ “

Shishisha is quiet for a moment before she sighs. “ _Why…is the dark one after my little one?_ ”

Harry tenses up but immediately relaxes—he cannot show fear; he knows that weakness should be kept to himself, because weakness will be used against him. He doesn’t stop walking, focusing on slipping into a crowd and blending in. This is his best skill, one that he relies on a bit more than he should because it’s easier to disappear and manipulate people than it is to fight them.

He is glad now that he slept in that cab—with the confirmation that this man is following him, he’s going to have a much harder time sleeping.

“ _He is very close, speaker; we should really get out of here—_ “

Harry bites his lip and looks around. He doesn’t see any escape; his best bet is to confront the man in a public area and hope that he won’t attack him with so many people around. He stops, leaning against the wall of a nearby building, and stares at the man who has been following him, waiting for the man in maroon to speak.

“My master has sent me to find you, Harry Potter.” The voice is different than the high, cold voice from before, and it sends shivers down Harry’s spine, though he doesn’t react. This time, Harry knows that the man must somehow be two people; after all, where else would the second voice come from?

Instead of showing fear, Harry sneers. “Your _master_ …? Do you mean the Dark Lord? If he’s sent you to kill me, you’ll find I won’t go down without a fight.”

The man laughs, and Harry hears the high voice laughing as well. “I am not here to kill you, Harry Potter. I am here to collect you.”

“ _Collect_ me?” Harry exclaims, pressing further against the wall and taking comfort in the solid feeling behind him. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass; I don’t see a reason to trust one of the Dark Lord’s minions.”

“Take him now,” the high voice demands, and the man lunges at Harry.

Harry ducks under the arms and dashes away, only for the man to grab his wrist and pull him close. The man twists and apparates away with Harry at his side. Harry thinks he’s going to be sick for a moment, but then they land and the feeling passes. Harry jerks away from the man roughly, immediately backing towards the nearest wall and taking in their surroundings. They seem to be in a dirty alley of some sort; Harry can feel the magic in the air, which leads him to believe they’re in Diagon Alley or someplace similar, perhaps Knockturn Alley.

The man takes Harry’s hand and tugs him out of the alley into an equally seedy looking alley--Knockturn. “Come, we’ll talk over tea.”

“What the hell?” Harry snarls, trying to tug his hand away. “You kidnap me and then invite me to tea? Are you bloody serious?”

The man looks back at the boy and nods. “Yes, Harry Potter, I am. Now, do be quiet; you’re drawing unnecessary attention to us, and while no one is going to care enough to help you, I don’t want people to remember us later.”

“Don’t say my name—that’s the surest way to get someone to remember us, idiot!” Harry spits out angrily as the man leads him into a surprisingly clean pub—apparently even Knockturn has a few nice places. “I’ve been careful to stay hidden for this long and I don’t fancy you ruining that for me!”

“ _My little one, don’t provoke the dark one—“_ Shishisha hisses worriedly.

The man laughs and approaches the counter at the back of the room, dragging the dark-haired boy along. “A private meeting room, if you please,” he says to the blonde woman behind the counter, pulling out a small bag and tossing it on the counter. Harry can hear coins jangling inside, and the woman opens it and pulls out a galleon, inspecting it, and the boy sighs because the man is clearly probably going to get his way at this point.

“Of course,” she smirks. “The usual, I presume?”

“Yes, my dear, that would be lovely, thank you.” The man says, already hauling Harry over to the stairs and shoving him into a room. “I told you to be quiet, Harry Potter.” He says, voice harsh.

Harry rubs at his hand irritably—the man had a strong grip and Harry suspected there’d be bruises on his hand if he cared to take of his gloves. “And _I_ told _you_ to stop saying my name around here. They don’t know my face yet, and I _like_ it that way.”

The man sits at the table in the center of the room and gestures at the seat opposite of him. “Sit,” he commands and he waves his wand in a complicated movement at the door. A nice dinner of roast chicken and potatoes appears on the table, along with wine, juice and tea. Harry sits, eyeing the man cautiously. “Eat.” Harry takes some of the meal as the man pours himself a glass of wine. “Would you like some?” He offers.

As much as Harry would like to try such things, Harry does not think getting intoxicated will help him escape, and he doubts his body can handle any amount of alcohol at all, so he declines and pours himself a glass of the juice.

“So, Harry Potter and guests,” the man says after a long silence passes, in which Harry manages consume most of his food. “I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself properly. My name is Quinirus Quirrel, and as you earlier assumed, I found you at the behest of the Dark Lord.”

Shishisha and Shieyish both hiss at this; Shieyish uncoiling from Harry’s wrist and quickly moving up to his shoulder, where the small snake poises, looking ready to strike.

“ _Speaker, I will protect you,_ ” Shieyish snarls, and Harry reaches up to pat his head soothingly.

“ _You’ll do no such thing,_ ” The boy responds to the snake. “ _You cannot possibly hope to win, if you should attempt to fight this man, and I’ll not see you hurt on my behalf._ ” Green eyes bore into the man in front of him now as he asks why while ignoring the strange, amused laughter of the high voice.

Quirrel leans back in his chair and smiles. “Power, of course,” he responds, sounding more amused than anything. “The Dark Lord values power, and what would bring more power to him than having the savior of the wizarding world by his side? Surely, you understand, Potter; you’ve been living on the streets. I’ve seen you lie and manipulate and steal, and should anyone try to stop you… well, you don’t stand for it. It’s clear that you value power. You understand; there is no good or evil; there is only power and those too weak to seek it.”

“Oh yes, I understand,” Harry replies, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “But what’s in this for me? You speak of power, but I’m afraid I’m not convinced.”

Quirrel laughs. “You are indeed everything we had hoped,” he states, shaking his head. “Power is what’s in it for you, of course. Right now, you live on the run, running from Hogwarts and running from the authorities who see a child, not a powerful wizard. Your knowledge is limited to what you can learn from passing strangers and snakes, and while you’re by no means ignorant, wouldn’t you like to learn whatever you like, when you like? Wouldn’t you like to have a home to return to at the end of the day, one safe from the constant stream of letters and fools who think of you as nothing more than a defenseless child?” The man pauses, studying Harry closely before continuing, “You would be free to pursue whatever you wish, be that learning or travelling or anything your heart desires. In return, the Dark Lord asks only that you go on missions for him on occasion, tasks that he believes you would be suited to. We would fulfill your heart’s desire, for such a small price. We would find you the finest teachers, experts in any field you wish, rare books, portkeys to any country you wish. Join us, Harry Potter, and we shall give you everything you could ever want and more.”

Harry stares at the man for a moment. Quirrel was quite convincing and the offer was beyond anything Harry had hoped for, but one question remained: Did he trust this man? Did he trust the Dark Lord? He respected him, certainly—he knew of the Dark Lord’s reign and the man’s power, thanks to Shishisha, and really, someone that powerful was someone who ought to be respected. Yes, Harry respected the Dark Lord, but he had no reason to trust him.

“ _Shishisha?_ ” He finally murmurs. “ _What do you think I should do?_ ”

The snake is silent for a moment, clearly thinking, before finally, she responds. “ _I think you should accept this offer. The dark one would gain nothing from making this offer unless he truly meant to give you this. You stand to gain everything from this. Take it.”_

Harry nods at the snake and then he looks at Quirrel and speaks softly. “I accept.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Price of dragon-hide boots is based off price of leather boots and then converted to pounds and then galleons and then rounded slightly because i don’t fancy trying to calculate how much a pound and some pence is. Price of dragon-hide gloves was found the same way only with leather gloves. Price of bag is completely random but I thought it to be reasonable enough since a decent bookbag costs around thirty dollars and then also magic (idk man but I’d charge for labor so--)
> 
> The next chapter is over halfway done, so it hopefully will be posted soon (but I gotta work on my math homework and packing first!)


	3. Prologue Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I never intended for this to take as long as it did, but I got sucked back into tumblr hell and started roleplaying again (rip me). As always, thank you to everyone for your comments, kudos, and bookmarks, and I do hope this chapter makes up for the wait!
> 
> After this chapter, the real story begins, but don't worry, there will be flashbacks here and there, so if you were hoping for more smol Harry, you'll get it!

The same night Harry accepts the Dark Lord’s offer, he is moved into a small seaside manor that Quirrel informs him was gifted to the Dark Lord by the Malfoys. It is homey, despite being larger than the Dursleys’ home many times over. Quirrel shows him around the manor, patiently answering any questions Harry has and introducing him to the house elves, Mipzy, Hetty and Dappy.

At the end of Quirrel’s little tour, Harry is given a ring and is told that it is a password activated portkey that will take him here whenever he wishes—to leave, he’ll have to walk out to the gates and summon the Knight Bus. He is promised that no mail can get through the wards unless it is delivered by Quirrel himself, and later an owl that Quirrel will take Harry to choose when he comes to take him to get a wand—Harry may not be going to Hogwarts, but the high voice is adamant that Harry get a wand, and the boy sees no reason to argue—a wand can only be beneficial to Harry; it’ll open more avenues of magic to Harry that he can’t use at this point wandless.

Quirrel leaves after Harry agrees to get a wand, and the boy, exhausted from the day’s events, immediately finds a bedroom with décor that doesn’t make him contemplate murder (dark grey walls and emerald green sheets and furniture of some sort of very pale wood) and goes to sleep.

\---

Harry spends the next week in the library in the manor, reading any book that catches his interest. He never really leaves unless he needs the bathroom, choosing to take all his meals in the fluffy chair he’s made his base of sorts and even sleeping there—it’s a comfortable chair, Harry suspects some sort of charm, honestly, because even the softest chair in the world should leave kinks in his neck after he slept in it. **[1]**

This is how Quirrel finds him when he comes to take Harry to get his wand and an owl on the eighth day of Harry’s stay in the manor. He immediately sends him to shower while he calls the elves and tells them to make sure that Harry takes better care of himself in the future.

It doesn’t take long for Harry to return to the library, clean and dressed in his nicest clothes, a grey t-shirt and dark-colored blue jeans and of course, his boots and gloves; for once, he has no snakes draped over his shoulders.

Quirrel looks him up and down and scoffs. “Haven’t you anything nicer to wear?” the high voice asks, clearly unimpressed.

Harry looks down at his clothes for a moment and then shakes his head. “No, not really. It’s not like pickpocketing makes enough for me to keep an entire wardrobe, nor have I really had a place to keep more clothing until recently.”

“We shall get you a full wardrobe,” the voice says after a moment of silence.

“Now come here,” Quirrel commands. “I shall disguise you.”

Harry obeys, edging closer to the man just as he is told. Quirrel runs the tip of his wand gently over Harry’s face, starting with his forehead and running it down over his cheeks and eyelids and then the bridge of his nose and his lips. He draws the wand back up and circles it over the crown of Harry’s head. Harry feels his hair shortening until it is near the nape of his neck rather than mid-back.

“There you go,” Quirrel says, nodding in approval. “If anyone asks, you are a muggleborn and I’m showing you around Diagon; your name is Thomas Parker.” **[2]**

Harry nods, and Quirrel grabs the boy without warning and they apparate away.

\---

They first go to Twilfitt and Tattings, where a man dressed in black silk robes measures Harry in a quiet, efficient manner. When asked what types of clothing, colors and fabrics Harry wants, Quirrel cuts in before the boy can speak.

“He needs a full wardrobe, in dark colors and your finest silks. Clothing from your muggle line as well, and a set of dueling robes made from horntail hide. A few more sets of boots and gloves in dragon hide, and we’ll wait for you to go ahead and finish one of those outfits for my charge to change into.” Quirrel states quickly, pulling a sack of galleons out of his robes. “I’ll pay now; five hundred galleons will be enough for plenty of clothing for the boy, yes?” Though posed as a question, Quirrel’s voice had a dangerous quality to it that made it more of a threat. **[3]**

“Yes, of course, sir,” the man agrees, bowing and accepting the payment before rushing to the back, presumably to begin the order.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, the man returns with a set of green robes so dark they’re nearly black. There is a curtain for customers to change behind that Harry is ushered into and the boy quickly changes but pauses by the mirror. This was his first opportunity to see the glamour that he wore—looking back at him in the mirror was a boy with chubby cheeks, mousy brown hair and eyes a dull, unremarkable shade of brown. In other words, Harry appeared to be a completely unmemorable boy. He was impressed—he couldn’t even recognize himself, especially when the robes were factored in.

Yes, no one would question his true identity like this.

Nodding in satisfaction, Harry steps out from the behind the curtain and Quirrel nods as well, pleased. “Very good. I’ll be back in a week to fetch half of the order,” he states, and the man in fine robes stammers assurances. Quirrel grins and leads Harry out of the shop and down the street to Ollivanders’, where Harry tries many wands before being paired with a holly and phoenix feather wand.

After that, the duo heads to Magical Menagerie, which was full of animals of every sort imaginable. Harry was drawn to the snakes, and Quirrel made no attempts to stop the boy from going to chat with them while he chose a falcon with bright amber eyes to gift to Harry. The boy doesn’t notice this; he is too focused on a large white snake. He’s never seen a snake that was white before, but he can say with certainty that they are lovely. **[4]**

The snake herself is hissing irritably. “ _Lovely, another snot-nosed brat has come to tap on the glass._ ”

“ _I won’t tap on the glass, I promise,_ ” Harry responds quietly.

“ _Oh, a speaker? Are you powerful? Take me with you. A beautiful snake like me deserves to travel with a powerful speaker._ ” The snake draws herself up in a prideful way.

“ _I have a few galleons…_ ” Harry murmurs, fishing through his pockets to find the money pouch, only to pause. “ _Wait, I almost forgot to ask—you have to be able to get along with my friends at home; they’re not as big as you.”_

_“Yes, of course. If a speaker has chosen to travel with them, then they must be acceptable company for one such as myself._ ” She replies.

Quirrel slides up behind Harry in that moment. “I’ve already paid for her for you; the deal was you get everything your heart desires. Surely you haven’t forgotten?”

Harry doesn’t respond; he just reaches into the tank and carefully lifts the snake and allows her to settle on his shoulders. “ _My name is Harry Potter, by the way. Do you have a name or do you need one?_ ”

“ _No, there is no point in having a name here when someone comes along just to name you something else,_ ” She answers.

Harry nods. That seems logical. “ _Is there a name you like or should I choose one for you?”_

_“Choose one for me; that will be much easier.”_

Harry is silent for several moments before he speaks. “ _How does Hedwig sound?”_

The large snake hisses happily and bobs her head up and down. “ _Yes, that will do nicely._ ” **[5]**

The boy smiles and Quirrel rolls his eyes and apparates them away.

\---

It has been a few months since Harry has moved into the seaside manor and he has had many different tutors come to teach him; all Harry has to do to get a teacher is send a letter to the Dark Lord, and within a day or two, Quirrel brings a new tutor to Harry. When Harry has learned whatever he cares to learn from the person in question, they are obliviated and given a nice sum of money before being sent back wherever they came from. Sometimes on the weekends Quirrel leaves Hogwarts and comes to the seaside manor, where the high voice teaches Harry high level spells. They all usually seem to be dangerous in one way or another but Harry likes learning the more dangerous spells. They’re more interesting to him; he never really knew spells or magic that could help him fight wizards until meeting Quirrel. Harry likes to know these spells; he likes to know things that protect him and he likes to know things that make him stronger.

Harry wants to be stronger than anyone else; he doesn’t ever want to be the powerless child he was with the Dursleys ever again.

Today the high voice is teaching Harry some more… explosive curses.

“No, no, you have to _want_ it,” the high voice informs Harry. “Bring your wand down at your target like you mean it.”

Harry nods and whips his wand down sharply at the training dummy, shouting, “Confringo!”

A spark of light flickers at the tip of his wand but nothing happens.

Growling under his breath, the boy glares at the dummy. “This is stupid. It’s boring to blow up a cotton doll.”

Quirrel looks at Harry incredulously. “Are you claiming the _doll_ is the problem?”

“Yes,” Harry states. “It’s boring. It doesn’t really harm anything; isn’t that the point of these curses? I want to break something.”

The high voice starts laughing and Quirrel points his wand at the dummy and transfigures it into a vase. “Go on then,” the high voice says, amused. “Break something.”

Harry grins and casts the curse again. This time the vase is blasted back and shards of glass fly everywhere. The high voice is laughing loudly as Quirrel transfigures and summons more vases and Harry finds himself laughing too as he casts more curses wildly, destroying vase after vase after vase.

\---

Harry watches the tutor that has been gotten for him point his wand at a cowering muggle that Quirrel had tied up in the basement just for this lesson.

“You have to focus on what you want them to forget; it’s a very delicate spell,” the man, whose name Harry has already forgotten, explains. “Twist your wand just so, and—Obliviate.” The spell hits the muggle in front of them like a fog and the muggle’s jaw goes slack and their eyes unfocused. “Normally, when learning this spell, there’s not a… _legal_ way to check if it was cast correctly. Of course, there are no such problems here, so once you try the spell, I’ll check to see if you got it completely using legilimancy. Now, to give the muggle something to forget—“

Harry’s tutor summons birds using a wordless spell and then freezes them. They fall to the ground and shatter, and then the tutor banishes them. “Make the muggle forget what he just saw.”

Harry nods and points his wand in the muggle’s face, looking into scared brown eyes. He smiles slightly and laughs. “Obliviate,” he murmurs, voice cold.

\---

Harry likes Knockturn Alley. It’s an interesting place, and no one questions his presence as long as he acts like he belongs there. He takes Shishisha and Shieyish with him but has to leave Hedwig at home since she is too big to carry around comfortably for long periods of time. No one comments on the fact that Harry has one snake curled around his neck and one curled around his arm; if this is because they are afraid of the snakes or simply don’t care, Harry doesn’t know or care to find out.

Harry goes into Borgin and Burkes and looks around at the items for sell, which include a withered hand with a sign proclaiming it the ‘hand of glory’, an assortment of human bones, a beautiful opal necklace that has been cursed and some leering masks. **[6]**

Harry isn’t interested in any of these items, but he heads deeper into the shop to look at the items further back. An ornate dagger rests on a cushion with a sign that explains that it is goblin-made and the blade has been impregnated with many different poisons. The boy stares at the blade for a moment, trying to decide if he wants it. It is very lovely, with rubies and sapphires and emeralds embedded into the shining hilt and it is polished to the point that Harry can see his reflection in the slightly crooked blade and gems. It looks very old. Harry likes pretty, dangerous things, and this dagger is definitely both dangerous and beautiful with the sparkling gems and sharp poisonous blade.

“ _You should get it, speaker; you obviously want it._ ” Shieyish hisses.

Harry nods and approaches the man at the counter who has been watching him suspiciously as he shopped. “I want to purchase that dagger,” he states, not bothering with niceties—on Knockturn Alley, they didn’t get you very far.

The man laughs. “Kid, you couldn’t afford that.”

Emerald eyes narrow and Harry frowns. “I assure you,” He states, pulling out the money pouch that Quirrel gave him. “I _could_.”

“Look, kid, your measly allowance isn’t going to pay for something that pricey. Or anything in this shop, really.”

“How much?” Harry snaps, growing irritated.

“Two thousand one hundred galleons,” the man seems smug; Harry suspects he thinks that he’s right and Harry’s not going to be able to afford this.

Harry grins. “Done,” he says, tapping his wand on the money pouch and then upending it over the counter. **[7]** The man stares in shock before shaking his head and opening the display case and carefully wrapping the blade and handing it to Harry. He doesn’t say anything; Harry thinks he’s still a bit surprised as he tucks the dagger away in his robes along with his money pouch.

Finished for the day now that he has a shiny new plaything, Harry starts towards the exit of Knockturn, thinking perhaps he’ll get some ice cream before heading back to the manor, when a hand is clapped over his mouth and an arm wrapped around his waist—the person holding him yanks him back into a side street and throws him to the ground. Both Harry and the man pull their wand at the same time, though the man seems unimpressed by Harry brandishing his wand.

“I saw all that money, and that fancy dagger you bought. Hand it over and I won’t kill you,” the man threatens, tapping his wand against his palm.

Harry narrows his eyes and flicks his wand, hissing, “ _Move_.” The man is roughly flung up and over Harry’s head and to the end of the alley, following the movement of Harry’s wand. Before the man can get up, Harry’s already pulled out the dagger and jumps at the man, stabbing him several times in the chest with no hesitation. The man dies quickly, foaming at the mouth and gasping for air—Harry wonders if the poison is the cause of it, since he hadn’t had enough time to bleed out. **[8]**

Wiping the blade off calmly, Harry wraps it neatly once more and activates his portkey, thinking it best to leave unless he wants to get caught—he’s too distracted by the feeling of power and bloodlust to focus on much of anything.

\---

Harry develops an interest in death after that day. In his next letter to Voldemort, Harry relates the story of his kill, describing the way his victim died with an abundance of adjectives and speaking of his fascination of how quickly the man died. The Dark Lord seems pleased if his response is anything to go by, and soon after that, Harry begins receiving tutoring in all sorts of lethal spells and rituals.

Nonverbal spells were his favorite.

“Dolohov’s Curse is a tricky bastard,” his tutor of the day, a tall, muscular man who is dark in every sense of the word possible, taps his wand against his palm. “It has no incantation at all; it’s solely based on will—this makes it one of the hardest damn curses you’ll ever learn, but the stronger your will, the stronger the curse, so it also can be very powerful, and it’s damn near untraceable.”

The dark-skinned man waves his wand, opening the door to the dungeons with a loud creaking sound. Harry makes a mental note to have the house elves grease the door again; the sound grates upon his nerves. A several muggles are chained to the walls; despite clearly being afraid, they seem to be in good health otherwise—the house elves must have been cleaning up behind them and keeping them fed and watered. Of course, they shan’t be in such good condition for long; Harry likes to test his curses on live subjects and Quirrel, the high voice, and the Dark Lord only encouraged this behavior in their near daily letters.

The man points his wand at one of the muggles chained up with a grin and gestures for Harry to come closer. “Watch,” he barks at the dark-haired boy, and Harry complies, eager to see the curse in action. The tutor swipes his wand down in a sharp, slashing movement, and a streak of purple flame strikes the targeted muggle, seeming to almost sink into her body as she crumples like a puppet who’s strings have been cut, only held up by the chains on her wrists.

Harry reaches up to feel for a pulse, finding a weak, fluttering pulse that quickly fades into nonexistence. He snaps his fingers and a house elf pops in. He smiles at the withered creature. “Dappy, could you take care of this for me?”

The house elf bows low and snaps his fingers, causing the body to disappear. Before anything more can be said, Dappy too pops out of the room.

“That there’s a good, loyal house elf, boy. You best keep that one around.” The tutor seems amused by the entire situation. He shakes his head before returning to his lesson. “Muggles die far quicker with this curse due to their lack of magic, so unless you’re sure they won’t be getting help quickly or you’ve got a particularly powerful curse, save this for a weaker witch or wizard, or eliminate some more muggles. I’m quite sure the Dark Lord won’t mind.”

The man then waves his hand at one of the other muggles chained up and grins. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

Harry smirks and points his wand at the muggle.

\---

_Harry Potter,_

_As per our agreement, you are due for your first assignment. Quirrel will be at the manor on Sunday evening at 18:00 to relay the details of this job to you. Destroy this letter once you have memorized the date._

_Lord Voldemort_

Harry crumples the letter roughly in his fist and grins. He’d wondered when this would happen. With a hissed command, the page slowly burns to ashes that float away in the air of the small owlery. He’s already been practicing curses for fun, but to use them with a purpose? Oh, that ought to be truly exciting. He hopes that the Dark Lord will give him something to get his blood pumping.

The young boy leans over the railing of the tower and laughs as the sun begins to set, casting everything in a bloody light.

\---

“Good evening, sir, the young master has had we elvesies prepare a nice roast dinner to talk over. If you will follow Dappy, please.” The house elf was waiting for Quirrel at the door, and though Quirrel knows his way around the manor just fine, his master is pleased because this means that Harry Potter has at last read up on the pureblood customs and is trying to follow them—thus they will oblige the child with no fuss.

After all, this is all exactly what they had hoped for.

Quirrel follows the house elf to the private dining room, the one meant for family or small gatherings. The elf opens the doors with a snap of its fingers and bows as Quirrel passes it to go into the room before disapparating with a soft pop. Potter is already seated at the small round table, and Quirrel takes the seat opposite the child quietly.

“Good evening, Professor. I hope your journey was well?” The boy’s voice is quiet, but in the silent room, it is near as good as shouting.

Quirrel inclines his head in a slight nod as neatly-plated food appears in front of him. “Quite. But these pleasantries aren’t what we are here for, now are they?”

“I suppose not,” Potter replies, green eyes sparkling with mischief.

Master speaks this time. “So, Potter… how would you like to kill for the Dark Lord?”

Potter’s answering grin is more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The power went to Harry’s head XD all those books; how could anyone expect him to bathe?  
> 2\. Harry’s fake name was chosen from a list of common first names and common surnames.  
> 3\. When Quirrel says a full wardrobe, he means a small mountain of clothing with which to smother Harry.  
> 4\. The white snake is a leucistic Texas rat snake; they are a fairly popular type of snake to buy as a pet and are fairly cheap.  
> 5\. Yes, Hedwig the snake is meant to replace Hedwig the owl. I really like Harry being best bros with lots of snakes okay? Sorry not sorry  
> 6\. The items for sell @ borgin and burkes were found on wiki, based on what was there second year—I can’t imagine they get a lot of business, considering that the Hand of Glory was there from at least Harry’s second year to his sixth year.  
> 7\. There’s a charm on the bag that links it directly to a bank account that Quirrel/Voldy has given to Harry—he more or less has access to buckets of money at all times.  
> 8\. Baby’s first kill!!


	4. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the long wait on this. I haven't given up on any of my fics; I've just been having a very hard time and so I've been more focused on trying to get my life together. In the future if you wish to make any requests or check the status of the updates on this, you can find me on tumblr @ ficsbyem.tumblr.com
> 
> This chapter will bring up questions about what has happened between the prologues and this chapter. Some will be answered in the next chapter; some will be answered much later in the fic. Please feel free to ask questions if you need anything clarified; I will answer them as quick as I can.
> 
> Thanks again for your patience. I'll try to be faster with updates in the future.

The door swings open without a sound, and slowly, the figure cloaked in darkness creeps across the room, drawing his wand at the foot of the bed. This is too easy; he has to resist the urge to laugh.

“Somnus,” he whispers, pointing his wand at the thin-- almost  _ too _ thin-- woman on the left. 

A foggy mist erupts from the tip of his wand, and settles over her sleeping body. The figure’s gaze drifts to the fat man sleeping on the right now; the figure rubs at his chin thoughtfully. “Incarcerous.” He flicks his wand, and ropes burst from the tip of his wand and wrap around the man in the bed, binding him tight.

The man’s eyes snaps open and immediately, he starts struggling. “What is the meaning of this?” He demands loudly. “Who are you?” 

“Don’t you recognize me, Uncle?” The cloaked figure draws down his hood, revealing long messy black hair, braided, and emerald green eyes-- Harry Potter sported a vicious grin.

The fat man-- Vernon Dursley-- paled, shrinking back. “Freak,” he whispers in horror. “Why have you come back?”

“I left you be for nearly ten years,” Harry says, voice soft. His disdain is clear in his tone; he looks positively bloodthirsty. “I let you think that you were safe, that no one would come for you. And now, I’m done with that. Now, I’m going to take you home and make you into my plaything, while Petunia and Dudders mourn for you. And then, just when they’ve started to get over the loss, I’m going return your mutilated corpse to them. I’m going to torment you and your family, because you tormented  _ me _ .”

Before Vernon can respond to Harry’s words, Harry lunges forward, fingers curling into the rope and then he twists and apparates away.

\---

They arrive at Harry’s home, that same little seaside manor that Quirrel first took Harry to four years ago. Grayside Manor.

Vernon seems to be missing a chunk of his leg, blood drips everywhere and the man is screaming and sobbing. Harry had not meant to splinch but he certainly didn’t care that he’d done so; in fact, he was mildly amused at the man’s suffering.

Immediately upon arrival, Hetty rushes over to Harry. “Master Harry, yous gonna get blood in the carpet again if yous not being careful,” she frets, wringing her hands fitfully. “Yous be giving yous toys to Hetty to put away from now on. Yous call Hetty for help.”

“As you wish, Hetty. Do with him as you please; I need to shower to get his filth off me.” Harry responds, wiping his hands on his clothes as he starts up the stairs. “Just don’t let him die; I have to make him suffer for his  _ sins.  _ ”

“Yes, Master Harry, Hetty be taking good care of yous toys.” Hetty responds, popping away with Vernon in tow.

Harry smiles, pleased with his elf, and pushes open the door to his room. The Dark Lord stands out on the balcony, looking out at the night sky. Harry can’t help but admire his form for a moment; the Dark Lord is admittedly a handsome man-- the type who could charm anyone with a look. 

“Good evening, Harry,” he says as he turns to look at Harry.

“Good evening, milord,” Harry responds, dipping his head in greeting. 

“We have already discussed the need for a lack of formalities, Harry.”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Marvolo. It is just quite the adjustment.” Harry slowly makes his way to the man’s side and looks out at the sky. “Did you need something?”

“You’re not going to like what I am going to ask of you. But unfortunately, I am beginning to think that Dumbledore has gotten to Severus, and I need you to go to Hogwarts and serve as my spy.” Marvolo seems truly apologetic; Harry can see it in those crimson eyes but he is still not pleased.

“Marvolo, you would subject me to Dumbledore’s antics?” He complains, horror clearly etched on his face.

Marvolo nods, face grim. “No one else could do this for me, Harry. The Order would not trust any of my other people, and I do not trust anyone else to be able to fool them as well as you, my protégé.”

Harry sighs, turning to lean on the railing. “I don’t like this, but of course I will do this for you.”

Marvolo smiles widely. “Thank you, Harry. Now-- here’s the plan…”

\---

Harry stumbles on to Hogwarts’ grounds clutching his arm. Blood drips from a cut just above his eye, and his clothes are torn and covered in blood and dirt. Despite the exhaustion that weighs down his body, he presses on towards the castle. Spotting someone, he lets out a feeble cry for help. 

“Pl--please-- someone, please…” 

He wishes he had Shishisha and Shieyish and Hedwig with him. But he’s alone-- he has no one; he has to play this part all alone. Marvolo is counting on him.

Someone rushes forward and wraps their arms around him, steadying him and holding him up. Harry recognizes this person from all Marvolo’s lessons. Minerva McGonagall; Transfiguration Professor, Head of Gryffindor, and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

“Please h-help me,” he whispers.

“What’s happened to you?” She asks.

“I barely got--got away-- I’ve b-been on the run for so l-long-- please, I’m so sc-scared…” The desperation can be heard in the boy’s voice; green eyes glisten with unshed tears as he looks up at her. Surely she’ll be moved by his tears (only half-faked; he truly is in a lot of pain) and bring him into the castle.

McGonagall seems to recognize those eyes if her gasp is anything to go by. “By the-- Harry Potter?”

“Pl-please,” Harry repeats, voice breaking. Everything hurts. It hurts so much. “Please don’t-- don’t let him g-get me.”

“Who is  _ him _ ?”

“I-I ca---can’t-- I  _ ca--n’t _ !” Harry starts to gasp, forcing himself to hyperventilate, eyes bulging. Spots dance in the corners of his eyes. “Pl-plea--” He can’t get the words out; his head feels light and then suddenly everything goes dark.

\---

“--solutely not! Albus, the boy has to recover! You’ll not be talking to him until I say he’s ready! Now, out!” The woman speaking sounds motherly, stern but loving. Harry thinks of Narcissa Malfoy in that moment; though she sounded a bit more regal, she did tend to mother most everyone.

Harry lets out a soft groan in an attempt to get someone to come to his side. It works very well, the woman-- Poppy Pomfrey, the school matron, Harry assumes-- quickly shoves Albus (Dumbledore? Harry wonders) out the door, ignoring his protests and rushes over to Harry’s side.

“You’re awake! That’s wonderful; we were beginning to worry about you, dear. How are you feeling?”

“Tired? And… confused.” Harry answers, but he’s lying. He’s not particularly tired nor confused. “Who are you exactly? Where am I?”

“I am Madam Pomfrey, and you’re in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, dear. Now, you say you’re tired, hm? Yes, that’s not surprising considering your injuries. I’ve got you all healed up, but I’d like to keep you here for observation a bit longer, so you can rest as much as you like and I can ensure that you don’t suddenly take a turn for the worst.” 

So Harry was right and this woman is the school matron. Good. 

“Okay, Madam. Can I have something to eat before I sleep again?”

“Of course, dear. Wait just a moment while I get some soup brought up.”

As the woman turns away, Harry smirks. She’s easy to play. As long as he keeps this up, she’ll think he’s an angel that can do no wrong, and that exactly what he wants everyone to think. 

Maybe this will be easier than Harry thought. 


	5. Retrospection One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is a flashback chapter-- there will be quite a few flashback chapters, in fact, because a lot has happened and those gaps ought to be filled, yes? If you have a specific thing you're hoping to see in the flashbacks, let me know on here or on tumblr @ ficsbyem.tumblr.com and I'll see if something can be arranged ;) 
> 
> Oh, another thing that should be noted that these flashback are non-linear. If this is confusing in any way, please let me know so I can make efforts to correct it and improve future updates.
> 
> As always, thank you all for your comments and kudos, and I hope you enjoy c:

_ Harry Potter, _

_ I will be making use of Grayside Manor in the coming days. You are already aware of the plan to acquire the sorcerer's stone; I’ve found a way around Dumbledore’s enchantments at last and will need a new base of operations. Beyond that little detail, you have a lot of potential that I do not wish to see go untapped, and so I shall be training you personally in a variety of subjects.  _

_ The war will be resuming in all its glory soon. Be prepared; you will be in the thick of it.  _

_ Destroy this letter once you are done with it.  _

_ Lord Voldemort _

Harry pulls the letter close to his chest excitedly; a long moment passes before the letter slowly crumbles to ash in his grip. “ _ Shishisha, Shieyish, Hedwig, _ ” He calls, looking around for them eagerly and holding out hands so that they might curl around him. “ _ Voldemort is going to teach me more magic-- imagine all the things he must know! I will learn so much; I’m going to be so powerful-- no one will dare to mess with us! _ ”

“ _ Our nest will be feared? How fitting. _ ” Hedwig slowly makes her way up Harry’s arm to settle around his shoulders.

Shishisha is quick to curl around a small wrist, hissing in satisfaction. “ _ I’m so happy for you, my precious hatchling. _ ”

Shieyish curls around the opposite wrist, but doesn’t speak. Harry starts braiding his hair. 

Tying a ribbon to keep his hair from falling loose, Harry starts striding towards the door, dragonhide boots clicking on the expensive tile as he moves. “ _ We have to go out and find new prey to play with as celebration! _ ”

\---

“No, you do it like this,” the Dark Lord murmurs, wrapping his arms around Harry as he guides the teen’s hands. 

Harry represses the urge to press against the older man. He can feel Marvolo’s heat, and for a moment, the teen imagines that warm body pressing him into a bed, Marvolo's heavy weight almost smothering Harry's small, slight frame-- but such thoughts are not allowed. Sucking in a sharp breath, he focuses on his spellcasting, and tries to cast the curse again.

This time, when Harry flicks his wand, his target cries for mercy. 

Harry doesn’t give it.

As Marvolo pulls away, making a satisfied sound, Harry thinks that he can still imagine that weight upon him. It’s still forbidden to him but… Harry still finds the thought pleasant.

\---

Harry pulls his hood over his head, the beginnings of a smile upon his lips as Lord Voldemort presses the tip of his wand to Lucius Malfoy’s wrist with unexpected gentleness-- perhaps his choice to return to the Dark Lord’s side has earned him some greater measure of favor than Harry had originally thought, Harry muses. That’s fortunate for the man as the Dark Lord is not feeling particularly merciful.

Soon enough, the air was full with the sound of apparition and swishing of cloaks as the Death Eaters join Harry, Lucius and Voldemort in the place Harry has come to call home. Slowly, cautiously, they move forward, one by one, almost as though they cannot believe their eyes, and perhaps some of them cannot, Harry thinks. After all, much of the wizarding world truly believed the Dark Lord to be vanquished by Harry that night in Godric’s Hollow. Harry finds the thought laughable now that he knows his Lord as well as he does. Voldemort is simply far too powerful and clever to ever be  _ truly _ vanquished. Temporarily setback, oh yes, he was. But truly gone? Never.

No one speaks-- the Death Eaters are still taking in the sight of their Lord, restored to all his former glory and strength, the body he’d once had long ago before the toll of too many rituals took place and Lord Voldemort simply waits for his followers to act, and act they do, falling to their knees and crawling forward to kiss the hem of Voldemort’s robes before backing away and standing up, forming a circle. Gaps are left, as though waiting for people-- those loyal followers who are in Azkaban, perhaps? Or perhaps for him and Lucius? Harry wonders. Still, neither Harry nor Lucius move to join the circle-- their Lord has given them their own orders to follow; right now, they are the favored ones, and they are above those who wait in the circle for the Dark Lord to speak.

“Welcome, Death Eaters, to Grayside Manor,” Voldemort speaks, and his voice is soft, almost affectionate in tone, but everyone there knows not to assume that this means the Dark Lord is in a good-- or forgiving-- mood. “You return to me as though it were yesterday rather than ten years. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or,” and here the man pauses, beautiful face twisting into something ugly. “Are we?”

He looks around the circle of his followers, disgust and betrayal clear on his face.

“I see you all-- alive and well, whole and healthy-- and I ask myself: why did this band of wizards not come to the aid of their master, the man to whom they swore eternal loyalty?” 

No one dared speak, but under their hoods, if anyone had looked at Harry or Lucius’ lowered heads, they would have seen the pair smirking. They were safe. They were loyal, and Lord Voldemort always rewards his loyal ones.

“And I answer myself,” whispered Voldemort, “they must have believed me gone; they must have thought I was dead. They slipped back among our enemies, and they pleaded innocence, and bewitchment. They betrayed me.”

Silence still reigns-- rightfully so. No one dared move; no one dared speak.

“And then I ask myself, but how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of the immensity of my power in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? And I answer myself, perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort… perhaps they now pay allegiance to another… perhaps that champion of commoners, of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore?”

At the mention of Dumbledore’s name, the members of the circle stirred, and some muttered and shook their heads. Voldemort ignored them.

“It is a disappointment to me… I confess myself disappointed…”

One of the men suddenly flung himself forward, breaking the circle. Trembling from head to foot, he collapsed at Voldemort’s feet.

“Master!” he shrieked, “Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!”

Voldemort began to laugh. He raised his wand, and cast the cruciatus curse.. The Death Eater on the ground writhed and shrieked; Harry’s smirk only grew-- he wanted to learn this next. He’d wanted to learn before but had turned to other curses and spells but seeing the cruciatus in action? Oh, it was exquisite. He wanted to do that too.

Voldemort raised his wand. The tortured Death Eater lay flat upon the ground, gasping..

“Get up, Avery,” said Voldemort softly. “Stand up. You ask for forgiveness? I do not forgive. I do not forget. Ten long years… I want ten years’ repayment before I forgive you. Lucius here has paid some of his debt already, have you not, Lucius?”

He looked over to Lucius, who stood tall and proud.

“When our young friend here,” and now, Voldemort gestures to Harry, “contacted you with whispers of your master requiring your assistance, you returned to me without hesitation. You helped me. And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers… Let it be known that Lucius is above all of you-- among our ranks only one stands higher… but we shall talk about that shortly, yes?”

Now Lucius takes his place in the circle, and Voldemort moved on, stopping and staring the space large enough for two people-- that separated Malfoy and the next man. 

“The Lestranges should stand here,” said the Dark Lord quietly. “But they are entombed in Azkaban rather than renounce me. When Azkaban is broken open, the Lestranges will be honored beyond their dreams. The dementors will join us; they are our natural allies… we will recall the banished giants… I shall have all my devoted servants returned to me, and an army of creatures whom all fear…”

He walked on. Some of the Death Eaters he passed in silence, but he paused before others and spoke to them.

“Macnair… destroying dangerous beasts for the Ministry of Magic now, Lucius tells me? You shall have better victims than that soon, Macnair. Lord Voldemort will provide.”

“Thank you, Master… thank you,” murmured Macnair.

“And here,” Voldemort moved on to the two largest hooded figures. “We have Crabbe… you will do better this time, will you not, Crabbe? And you, Goyle?”

They bowed clumsily, muttering dully.

“Yes, Master…”

“We will, Master…”

“The same goes for you, Nott,” said Voldemort quietly as he walked past a stooped figure in Goyle’s shadow. 

“My Lord, I prostrate myself before you; I am your most faithful--”

“That will do,” said Voldemort.

He had reached the largest gap of all, and he stood surveying it with sharp, red eyes, as though he could see people standing there. Harry rather thought that Voldemort was remembering the days when the circle had no gaps.

“And here we have seven missing Death Eaters… four dead in my service. Two, too cowardly to return-- they will pay. And one, who I believe has left me forever… he will be killed, of course.” The Dark Lord moves to return to the center of the circle now. “But you must be questioning my young friend here, yes? This is my most faithful, the one I hold above all others.” And with that, he pulls Harry’s hood off and Harry removes his mask. “Harry Potter, who joined me before all others-- who joined me despite everything urging him in another direction. You’ll see the evidence of all his efforts for me in the disappearance of many a mudblood. Such a faithful servant. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honor.”

There was a silence. Then a Death Eater steps forward, and speaks. “Master, we long to know… we beg you to tell us how you have achieved this miracle… how you have managed to return to us…”

“Ah, what a story it is, Nott,” said Voldemort, looking over to Harry now. “And it begins-- and ends-- with my young friend here.”

“You know, of course, that they have called this boy my downfall?” Voldemort said softly, turning his gaze from Harry to look out upon the circle. “You all know that on the night I lost my powers and my body, I tried to kill him. His mother died in the attempt to save him-- and unwittingly provided him with a protection I admit I had not foreseen… I could not touch the boy. I miscalculated, my friends. I admit it. My curse was deflected by the woman’s foolish sacrifice, and it rebounded upon myself. Aaah… pain beyond pain, my friends; nothing could have prepared me for it. I was ripped from my body; I was less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost, but still, I was alive. What I was, even I do not know… I, who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality. You know my goal-- to conquer death. And now, I was tested, and it appeared that one or more of my experiments had worked… for I had not been killed, though the curse should have done it. Nevertheless, I was as powerless as the weakest creature alive, and without the means to help myself… for I had  no body, and every spell that might have helped me required the use of a wand…”

Harry has heard this story before but he cannot deny that his Lord is a master with words-- he is spellbound; all the Death Eaters are, listening silently, not daring to move a muscle, almost holding their breath in anticipation.

“I remember only forcing myself, sleeplessly, endlessly, second by second, to exist… I settled in a faraway place, in a forest, and I waited… Surely, one of my faithful Death Eaters would try and find me… one of them would come and perform the magic I could not, to restore me to a body… but I waited in vain.” 

A shiver ran around the circle of listening Death Eaters, and Harry can almost  _ taste _ the shame many of them are feeling. Voldemort let the silence hang in the air, forcing the Death Eaters to stew in their guilt before he continued. 

“Only one power remained to me. I could possess the bodies of others. But I dared not go where other humans were plentiful, for I knew that the Aurors were still abroad and searching for me. I sometimes inhabited animals-- snakes, of course, being my preference-- but I was little better off inside them than as pure spirit, for their bodies were ill adapted perform magic… and my possession of them shortened their lives; none of them lasted long…”

And now a smile appears on his face, but it is twisted, frightening. Despite the fact that Harry should be afraid at such an expression, the boy can’t help but think that even this is a good look for Lord Voldemort; no one in their right mind would dare to mess with the dark lord when he looked so cruel and bloodthirsty. “Then, about a year ago… the means for my return was assured. A wizard-- young, foolish, and gullible-- wandered across my path in the forest I had made my home. Oh, he was the very chance I had been dreaming of, for he was a teacher at Dumbledore’s school. He was easy to bend to my will. He brought me back to this country, and after a while, I took possession of his body, to supervise him closely as he carried out my orders. And imagine my surprise upon surprise when I came across Harry Potter in Diagon Alley one day. The boy never saw me but I saw him, performing wonderful feats of magic for an untrained wizard, all to steal from wizards. I admit my curiosity was peaked-- the paragon of the light, stealing? And as I followed the boy, I learned that he was just as ruthless and Dark as many of you, and I sought him out.”

Silence once more; nothing was stirring, not even the leaves on the trees. The Death Eaters were quite motionless, the glittering eyes in their masks fixed upon Voldemort and upon Harry. Harry stood, proud and tall, drinking in the attention and the praise offered-- for that was what this was; Harry doubted the Dark Lord would openly praise anyone, but anyone with half a mind would see this for what it was.

“Harry Potter values power before all else; he understands that there is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it. And so, being the clever boy he is, he joined my side, and while I went to Hogwarts to seek out the Sorcerer’s Stone, he remained here, preparing my ritual for my return. There were many ingredients required-- many sacrifices being the least of them. And Harry, dear, sweet Harry,” and here, Harry grins maliciously. “He gladly collected lives for me. He drew the runic circle in the blood of his sacrifices, and I provided the elixir from the Sorcerer's Stone, of course. Phoenix ashes, scales of a basilisk, and finally, the blood of my equal. Of course, who else could I choose but my most faithful, the only other who could speak parseltongue as I do? Harry willingly gave his own blood for my resurrection, and that, combined with the elixir of life, restored me to even greater strength than I was before that fateful night in Godric’s Hollow.”

Silence reigns for a moment before the Dark Lord speaks again. “And now? Now we shall pick up where we left off-- we will take the wizarding world by storm, my friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much of this chapter with Voldemort's return is taken from the Goblet of Fire with edits where fitting. A lot of changes had to be made to make it fit, but a lot of Voldemort's dramatic speech was fitting and I saw fit to use it.
> 
> Thanks again for everything guys!


	6. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the next chapter!! I hope it's everything you were hoping for; if it's not, message me here or on tumblr @ ficsbyem.tumblr.com and let me know where I went wrong. If it's great, maybe send a message my way anyways?? Your kudos and comments are what keep me going on here c:

McGonagall was silent as she led Harry up the spiral staircase to Dumbledore’s office. Harry thought perhaps she didn’t know what to say to him or how to say whatever it was she wanted to say; she kept opening her mouth as though she was going to say something and then seeming to change her mind and shut her mouth just as abruptly. 

The door to Dumbledore’s office was rather nice; a polished oak door with a brass door knocker. Harry wondered how much work the house elves had to put into that as the door opened. 

“Ah, Harry, my boy! I’m glad to see you; however something’s come up and I really must be stepping out of my office for a few moments. Wait here for me.” Dumbledore said, stepping out of the office quickly, McGonagall following behind him.

Harry looked around the office. It was actually very beautiful, a circular room lined with pictures of previous headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts, all of who were fast asleep, their chests rising and falling gently. Dumbledore’s phoenix stood on his golden perch beside the door. The size of a swan, with magnificent scarlet and gold plumage, he swished his long tail and blinked benignly at Harry.

Harry sat down in a chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk. For a moment or two, he sat and watched the old headmasters and headmistresses sleeping, thinking about how much he’d rather be anywhere but here. He looked up at the walls behind the desk. The patched and ragged Sorting Hat was standing on a shelf. He was gazing at it, wondering if perhaps Dumbledore would insist he be sorted, when he noticed a patch of silvery light, dancing and shimmering on the glass case. He looked around for the source of the light, and saw a sliver of silver-white shining brightly from within a black cabinet behind him, whose door had not been closed properly. He didn’t hesitate to make his way over and open the cabinet door.

A shallow stone basin lay there, with runes carved all around the edge-- This was a pensieve, Harry knew. It was not his first experience with one. The pensieve was full of memories. Harry wanted them, but he knew he could not just take them. Dumbledore would question their absence. Quickly he conjured a crystal flask, waved his fingers over the basin, chanting softly. Slowly the flask filled with copies of the memories. Once satisfied with his work, he corked the flask and pocketed it quickly before sitting back in the seat, making it just in time for the door to open.

Dumbledore greeted him cheerfully as he sat down behind his desk, eyes twinkling merrily.

Dumbledore was disgustingly fake. Harry was pretty sure that that damn twinkle in his eyes was some sort of charm, because there was nothing on this Earth that could convince Harry that that was  _ natural _ .

“Please tell me where you’ve been all these years, my boy. You’ve worried quite a lot of people, you know, and we’ve all been searching for you; you owe everyone an explanation.” As Dumbledore speaks, he steeples his fingers and looks over the top of his glasses sternly. 

Harry wants to punch the man. Fucking manipulative bastard; trying to guilt trip him! Instead, of responding the way he’d like, he wrings his hands together, looking down at his lap. “Aunt Petunia told me all about magic and where I came from and I was scared. Everyone  _ said _ that You-Know-Who was gone, but-- but what if he wasn’t? I didn’t want to put my family in danger, so I ran away and I just kept going. If I never stayed put then he’d never find me, right? But I was wrong, because one day they almost caught me and I didn’t know what to do-- I just knew that I didn’t want to be caught and then next thing I knew I appeared here and that’s all I know.”

Lying to the old fool gave Harry a sense of satisfaction. The great Albus Dumbledore would eat his story up; Harry was sure of it, and he would make the mistake of  _ trusting _ Harry, and that would be his downfall. 

Harry would be Dumbledore’s downfall. 

Knowing that felt good. Harry held such power in his hands. That was so very gratifying.

“You’re safe here at Hogwarts, my dear boy. You have nothing to fear as long as you stay here.” Dumbledore said in what Harry assumed was meant to be a reassuring tone, but really just made Harry want to curse him senseless.

“Really? I’m safe?” Harry jerked his head up in fake shock. 

“Yes, Harry, you’re safe.”

Harry wants to vomit; he knows Dumbledore is just trying to manipulate him-- he’s already tried to guilt trip him once; now he’s trying to get Harry to trust him. 

“Can-- Can I learn magic so I can protect people? I don’t want anyone to get hurt for me…”

Dumbledore nods sagely. “Of course, my boy. There will be a lot of catching up to do, but if you work hard, I’m sure we can have you caught up with your yearmates in no time-- and then perhaps we’ll see about specialized training.”

“Thank you so much; I swear I’ll pay you back for this!” It wasn’t a lie; Harry fully intended to pay Dumbledore back for all the shit he’d pulled-- in fact, if he had his way, Harry would just use one of the many curses he’d learned over the years now and end Dumbledore now, but that wasn’t allowed, unfortunately. Marvolo had plans and things like that simply had to wait for now. It didn’t stop Harry from imagining what it would be like. He rather thought it would feel so very nice.

Dumbledore chuckles. “Oh no, my boy, the only sort of repayment I expect from you is hard work on your studies.”

“Yes, sir!” Harry answers, sounding every bit the eager teen that Dumbledore surely wants.

“Now, I do think you’ll be needing some rest, my boy. I’ll let Professor McGonagall show you to your rooms.”

With that, Harry nods, and leaves with the woman who seems to have been waiting outside the door.

\---

With a sigh, Harry sinks down into his new bed. It’s not as comfortable as the one he’s used to. He already misses Grayside manor and his elves and his beloved snakes. But he doesn’t dare to call Hetty, Mipzy, or Dappy for anything. Not when he knows there are monitoring charms all over his room. He can’t risk his cover because he misses his elves or wants them to bring him his snakes. Worse still, bringing his elves or his snakes here would put them in danger, and he’s meant to protect those who are his, not put them in harm’s way.

Perhaps he will be able to see Draco soon. Or Severus. He knows both him and Severus will have to play like they hate each other, but perhaps he can pretend to make friends with his favorite Malfoy. The thought of having only Dumbledore and his lackeys as companions makes him want to be sick. 

With his resolve renewed, he closes his eyes and tries to sleep, one hand tucked inside his robes, touching the vial of memories he took. After all, tomorrow will surely be a long day.

\---

Dumbledore presents Harry with the key to his trust fund the next day, and he can’t quite suppress the flash of rage behind green eyes. Dumbledore never should have had access to such a thing. That was something that was meant for his parents and godparents only; Dumbledore had no right, Harry wants to scream at the man. But instead, he only thanks the man with a smile. 

“Professor Snape here will be your guide for the day, Harry,” the old fool says while gesturing at Severus. Severus, for his part, looks very annoyed as Dumbledore continues, “I’m sure the two of you will get along wonderfully.”

The second Dumbledore falls silent, Severus spins sharply on his heel and starts walking away. “Yes, well, come along, Potter; I don’t have all day.”

Harry has to jog to catch up. Severus plays his part well; Harry is impressed. He wonders if Severus really is on Dumbledore’s side. He will have to find out. So far, Severus hasn’t blown Harry’s cover, but Harry doesn’t dare try to find the truth from him yet. He hopes Severus is loyal to the Dark Lord; otherwise Harry thinks he might find Hogwarts to be a very lonely, frustrating place. 

Outside the gates of Hogwarts, Severus snaps, “Give me your arm, Potter.”

“Sir?” Harry questions, slowly holding his arm out.

Severus snatches Harry’s arm with a tight squeeze, and turns, pulling Harry into his apparition along with him. 

Harry hates side-along apparition. He’d thought he’d get used to it at some point, but unfortunately, he never did. Severus dragging him along so suddenly didn’t help him any, either. Harry’s stomach protested violently, and for a moment, Harry thought he’d be sick on Severus’ shoes. 

“Pull yourself together, Potter. It’s time to go to Gringotts.” Severus barked, and Harry shook his head and quickly followed behind the potions master.

After they finished their business at Gringotts, Severus dragged Harry along to get robes, books for several years worth of schooling, potions supplies, and finally, took him to Ollivander, where, since Harry did not actually need a wand, they were purchased a holster and nothing else-- the whole visit to the shop was solely for the purpose of appearances and nothing more. 

The entire time, Severus spoke the barest minimum and what little he did speak was very snappy and irritated sounding. 

It wasn’t until the very end of the trip, as they were walking back up to the castle, that Severus spoke something that Harry actually cared to listen to.

“You will meet me after dinner and I will show you to my office for the first of your lessons. Bring three books from your first year set of your choice, and do not test my patience, Potter.”

Before Harry could respond, Severus walked away. Harry had to hide his giggles behind his hand. Severus was just as dour as he remembered.

\---

Dinner was a rather unpleasant affair for Harry; as it was the summer, no one but a few professors were in the castle, and Harry was stuck making small talk with Dumbledore, McGonagall and Flitwick while Severus occasionally snapped at him but mostly ignored them except when Dumbledore attempted to drag him into the conversation with little success. 

At the end of the meal, Harry had to force himself not to let out a sigh of relief as Dumbledore wished Harry luck in his lessons with Severus and McGonagall informed him that he’d have lessons with her after breakfast, requesting he bring his Transfiguration book.

Once all the other professors were gone, Severus started for his office, barking impatiently for Harry to follow as he walked. Once they were in his office and the door locked, however, his demeanor changed. 

“Tell me why you’ve sided with the Dark Lord, Potter. Originally I’d been lead to believe you had no choice but now I am beginning to question your motives. You will explain at once, or I will go straight to Dumbledore before you have a chance to escape back to the Dark Lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a cliffhanger there, ahaha, but don't fear-- I'm already working on the next two chapters, so there shouldn't be too long of a wait! In the meantime, maybe think about which characters you'd like to see side with Harry and let me know!! There's still some characters I'm rather undecided on, so it'd be super helpful if anyone wanted to share what they liked best!


	7. Retrospection Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No worries, next chapter will get rid of that lil old cliffhanger. In the meantime, here's some more flashbacks and peek and some of the things Harry and Voldemort were getting up to in those years between the prologue and the first chapter. A warning for this chapter: There is some triggering content in this chapter including self harm, minor character death, and gore. 
> 
> Some bits and pieces of this are taken from the book, with edits to suit my needs for this fic. All credits, of course, go to Ms. Rowling.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and if you enjoyed the fic, please let me know in the comments or on tumblr @ ficsbyem.tumblr.com

Harry stands in the middle of the room, looking around slowly to survey the area. The smooth, stone floor is the perfect place to draw out the runes-- not a single mistake can be made, or else the backlash of magic would probably level the whole manor. 

This should scare Harry; this should make him nervous.

But Harry is more than confident in his abilities. So instead of worrying about what could go wrong, he thinks about everything going  _ right _ . He dips his fingers into the golden cauldron of his victims’ blood and slowly but surely starts drawing out runes one by one. As he paints the runes, he slowly feeds his magic into them, until the air is thrumming with magic-- the air feels almost alive;  _ Harry _ feels alive. 

For the first time, Harry can understand how someone could get addicted to performing rituals. The magic is intoxicating; he can’t help but smile widely and breathe in deeply. He can even taste the magic; it’s thick and heady on his tongue. He feels grateful to be the one who is performing this for the Dark Lord. This is the best Harry’s ever felt in his life.

Grinning, he paints Algiz. Protection, opportunity. The Dark Lord needed plenty of both. It wouldn’t do to have him fall again. 

Uruz, for strength. Lord Voldemort needed to be returned to his full strength. Nothing else would do.

Jera-- success and continuity. Success was what they sought, but continuity was what they needed for this ritual to hold.

Tiwaz, the warrior’s rune, and sowilo-- an important rune, for energy, wholeness, and victory. Tiwaz represented the Dark Lord, who was well-known as a powerful and terrifying duelist-- a warrior, but sowilo powered the ritual, brought wholeness to the Dark Lord’s body, and hopefully would bring them many victories.

Dagaz, the rune of transformation. This, the Dark Lord had told Harry, was a surprise.

And Thurisaz, the rune of chaos. And this rune too represented the Dark Lord.

Seven is the most magically powerful number, is it not? Harry thinks to himself as he paints these runes over and over until his circle is complete. A ring of tiny, delicate looking runes. They glow, alit with Harry’s magic and he stands in the center, slowly circling the golden cauldron as he continues to fuel the runes. His hair and robes whip around him as though blown by the nonexistent breeze; his eyes glow in the darkness.

And the door to the room opens, and Quirrell, dressed only in the simplest of robes slowly steps into the circle. He shudders as Harry’s magic washes over him, but continues on, until he reaches the cauldron, and then he slips out of the robes, and climbs into the cauldron, sinking down into the blood. 

Harry starts chanting in parseltongue now, voice ringing out in the room and echoing. From his robes, he brings forth the basilisk scales, and in sweeping, dramatic movements, sprinkles them over the blood. “ _ Let the king of serpents bring forth Slytherin’s heir, the king of serpents. Let the deadly gaze wash over him and strengthen him; he who is of immense power. Let him be reborn in all his glory, formidable and commanding. _ ” 

The mixture bubbles up and Harry keeps chanting, circling the cauldron until the reaction slows and stops, and then he brings forth the phoenix ashes, and again, in the same exaggerated movements, sprinkles ash over the blood. “ _ Let the sun bird bring forth Slytherin’s heir, the king of serpents. Let the healing touch wash over him and heal all his impurities; Let nothing that weakens him touch him any longer. Let him be reborn in all his glory, whole and untouched. _ ”

Again, the mixture bubbles up, more violently than before, and Harry chants faster, voice harsher and unwavering still as he continues to circle and circle and circle as the reaction only grows. It isn’t until it stabilizes that Harry brings forth the elixir of life, and slowly, moving his hand around the rim of the cauldron, he pours it in. The potion begins to turn a glowing gold, and still Harry chants on. “ _ Let the fabled elixir of life bring forth Slytherin’s heir, the king of serpents. Let it’s immortal touch wash over him and restore him as he once was. Let him be reborn in all his glory, formidable and commanding. Let him be reborn in all his glory, whole and untouched. Let him be reborn in all his glory, feared and mighty. _ ”

As he walks, Harry pulls out his ritual blade, and in one sharp motion, he tears his wrists open, blood spilling forth. He holds his wrists over the cauldron and lets the blood pour freely into the mixture. When he pulls away, still the blood runs, but he makes no move to stem the flow. “ _ With the blood of the equal, freely given, the Dark Lord will rise again. _ ”

And for the first time since the ritual began, Harry stops moving, and stands with his back to the cauldron as he stretches his arms up to the sky and chants louder, imbibing his words with magic. The cauldron shakes and shudders, it’s contents overflowing and Harry presses on, chanting louder still. Quirrell’s body twists grotesquely and changes, but Harry does not see as he continues chanting without hesitation until the magic in the air slowly seeps back into his small, trembling body, and he sinks to the ground.

Lord Voldemort steps over to him, a soft hand brushing the top of his head and sliding downwards to tilt Harry’s chin up. “You have done well, Harry, and you will be rewarded for your efforts. For now, you must rest. Your elves will come and put you to bed.”

Harry doesn’t respond, because his vision is already going out and he loses consciousness.

\---

“Oh, yeah, ol’ ‘ogwarts was a riot. ‘Ad me tons of ‘ventures, I did,” the man drawls, leaning over his butterbeer to look across the table at the disguised Harry.

Harry grins, playing the part of a fascinated child-- it wasn’t a hard part to play, despite how he might pretend otherwise, he was still very young, and he loved stories as much as the next kid, even if he liked to claim that it was solely for the sake of knowledge. “Can you me about some of your adventures?  _ Please _ ?”

“Okay, okay, kid. Sure.” For all the man’s supposed reluctance, he seemed to enjoy having an audience. “‘Ave ya ‘eard of th’Forbidden Forest? ‘S a ‘uge forest on ‘ogwarts grounds. ‘S also forbidden for students to go in there if ya couldn’t guess. Dang’rous, it is. Tha’s why ‘s forbidden, ya see.” 

As the man speaks, he gestures widely with his hands. “Well, I used to get detent’in all th’time. Always acting up in Minnie’s class, I was. Get the feelin’ she innit like me very much, ‘cause I almost always got sent to th’Forbidden Forest.”

Harry gasped, partially for show but also partially because he simply couldn’t believe they would punish children by sending them into a forest that they deemed too dangerous for them as a punishment. 

“Yeah, I know, kid. Crazy, innit? Well, usually I’d get sent off with ‘agrid, an’ ‘e was a nice enough guy, real tall, real friendly, an’ louder than ‘ell but if ‘e ‘ad any magic in ‘im I sure as ‘ell never saw ‘im use it.” The man pauses to take a swig of his drink, swirling it around in the bottle as he’s silent for a moment. “Well, more often than not nothin’ of intres’ ‘appened on these li’l excursions, bu’ once in awhile ol’ ‘agrid would send me off alone ‘cause ‘e reckoned we’d cover more ground separately. A few knuts short of a galleon, I reckon ‘e was, ‘cause me third year I got los’ in th’forest.”

At this, Harry just stared. “And this was  _ allowed  _ at Hogwarts?”

“Oh yeah, ol’ Dumblydore would let all sorts of crazy stuff ‘appen at ‘ogwarts. Did ya know ‘e brought in a big ol’ tree that tried to murder ya if ya got too close? Tha Whompin’ Willow was summat crazy, but ol’ Dumblydore innit seem to mind it much.” The man ignores the shock that Harry isn’t even bothering to try to hide at this point and keeps on talking. “Anyways, back ta me story. So, I got los’ in th’forest. All I ‘ad on me was me wand and th’clothes on me back. ‘S dark as ‘ell out, so I use me wand to light th’way, an’ thank the goddess that ’s th’new moon so at leas’ I knew no werewolves would be comin’ after me. ‘M wonderin’ ‘round th’forest lookin’ for anythin’ familiar for what must’ve been hours when I run inta centaurs. Turns out, centaurs is bleedin’ crazy. One of ‘em gets real mad. Says ‘e don’t like ‘is forest bein’ invaded or whatever. I wasn’t listenin’ much, ya see, ‘cause the other one tried ta shoot me with ‘is bow an’ arrow an’ I was ‘ightailin’ it outta there, ‘cause ya don’t jus’ sit there an’ get shot in th’face unless ya crazy. So ‘m runnin’, an’ they looked like they was gunna chase me for a second, but then another centaur comes up. ‘M thinkin’ tha’ this is it for ol’ Callum, of course. Thought they was gunna kill me. But I reckon they got bored or summat, cause they left me be. ‘Course, I still kep’ runnin’, ‘cause there was no way I was gunna wait around ta see if they changed their minds.”

“So I’m runnin’, an’ now I run inta giant bleedin’ spiders!” At this, Callum slams his hands down on the table, shaking his head. “Apparently, there’s also acromantula all in th’forest. An’ not jus’ any kind of acromantula-- man-eatin’ acromantula. Those buggers are fast, kid. I was slingin’ spells left an’ right as I jus’ ran like ‘ell, ‘cause what else could I do? I was screamin’ at the top o’ me lungs too, which in ‘indsight, pro’lly wasn’t real smart but I was scared as ‘ell so ‘course I didn’t really think about  _ that _ . Again ‘m thinkin’,  _ this is the end for ol’ Callum _ . I was sure as ‘ell them spiders was gunna ‘ave me as a nice li’l appetizer. But then--” and now the man pauses for dramatic effect, taking another large drink of butterbeer. “But then, ol’ Minnie ‘erself comes in, wand at the ready, an’ she blasts the ‘ell out of them spiders with a fire spell. A couple o’ sparks got me clothes, an’ they caugh’ fire, but the scars look kinda cool so I nev’r really minded all tha’ much. Also, not gettin’ eaten by spiders was a nice bonus. After tha;, I nev’r le’ ol’ ‘agrid talk me inta splittin’ up again.”

“That was crazy. I can’t believe they kept sending you out in the forest after all that happened.” Harry muses, looking thoughtfully.

“Yeah, ol’ Minnie still didn’t like me much after all tha’.” Callum admits with a grin. “Anyways kid, ya should be gettin’ back ta yer mom now. Ol’ Callum ‘as took up enough o’ yer time, I reckon.”

“Okay, mister. Thanks for the story,” Harry says, climbing out of the tall chair and skipping away, looking every bit like an innocent child. No one notices when he hisses to the snakes coiled around his wrists.

\---

It was late at night when Harry flooed into the Ministry, cloaked and masked. He walked with purpose to the lift and pressed the down button, nodding in satisfaction when a lift clattered into sight almost immediately. Harry stepped inside and pressed the number nine button, and the grilles closed with a bang as the lift began to descend. 

When the lift halted, the lift announced that he’d reached the Department of Mysteries and the door opened with a clang. The door Harry needed was guarded by some member of the Order, who sent a stunner in Harry’s direction. He sidestepped the spell and returned fire with a much more fatal curse. At that point, all bets were off. 

Both wizards were slinging spells back and forth, but while Harry dodged and shielded quite well, the other man’s shield was shattered with two well placed entrail expelling curses. The third curse hit the wizard and with a sickening sound, his stomach split and his innards spilled from his stomach.

Harry smiled as the man tried to gather them up as though he could fix damage of this magnitude. Soon enough the Order member collapsed, and Harry stepped over his body, seeming not to care that he was getting blood on the hems of his cloak. He opened the door, and found a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling-- identical, unmarked, handleless black doors were set at intervals all around the walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue, their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor so that it looked as though there was dark water underfoot.

Harry shut the door behind him, and the whole room was so dark that there was little Harry could see. He lit his wand and waited for the walls to rotate. Once they stopped, Harry chose the door now facing him and opened it. 

After the darkness of the first room, the lamps hanging low on golden chains from this ceiling gave the impression that this long rectangular room was much brighter. The room was quite empty except for a few desks, and in the very middle of the room, an enormous glass tank of deep green water, which contained a number of objects drifting around lazily in the liquid. Upon closer inspection, Harry found that these objects were brains. This was not what Harry came back for, so he turned back, casting a spell to mark the door on his way out.

The second the door clicked shut, there was a great rumbling, and once again, the wall began to revolve very fast again. The next door Harry chose would not open no matter what Harry tried. In frustration, he gave up after several attempts, just marking the door and waiting for the wall to spin once more.

The next door was the right door. Harry knew it at once when he saw the dancing, diamond sparkling light. Clocks gleamed from every surface, large and small, grandfather and carriage, hanging in spaces between the bookcases or standing on desks ranging the length of the room, so that a busy, relentless ticking filled the place like thousands of minuscule, marching footsteps. The source of the bright dancing light was a towering crystal bell jar that stood at the far end of the room.

Harry walked forward down the narrow space between the lines of the desks and he edged around the bell jar and opened the door behind it. 

The ceiling of the room was as high as a church and it was full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty, glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle brackets set at intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue. The room was very cold. Harry looked up at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of blue glowing candles protruding from it glimmered the silver figure 53.

Harry continued forward, past fifty four and fifty five, looking around as he walked. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the shelf. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow; others were as dull and dark within as blown lights.

He passed row eighty-four… eighty-five… Harry was ready to be have that prophecy in his hands; Marvolo would be so pleased with him… And there it was.

Row Ninety-seven.

It was near the end of the row, Harry had been told. His eyes searched frantically for any sign of his name until he found it.

S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D

Dark Lord

and Harry Potter.

Harry stared at it for a moment. 

Then he picked it up. He had expected it to feel cold, but it did not. On the contrary, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though the glow of light within was warming it. Gently, he brushed it free of dust, and then tucked it in one of his pockets and made his way back to the way he came, a pleased smile on his face.

The prophecy was theirs.


	8. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended to have such a long wait on this fic. But alas, I lost muse for the longest time, and then life was too busy for me to even think of working on fanfics-- really, life is still too busy for me to be spending time on this, but I really felt terrible for letting this go without updates for so long. I will try to update more frequently, but things are still gonna be a bit slow -- it is that time of year, after all. I don't intend to give up on this fic at any point though, so even if wait times are long, the fic still lives. If you enjoy this chapter ( or if you hate it ), please leave a comment so I know what I'm doing right ( or wrong )! ❤

“Tell me why you’ve sided with the Dark Lord, Potter. Originally I’d been lead to believe you had no choice but now I am beginning to question your motives. You will explain at once, or I will go straight to Dumbledore before you have a chance to escape back to the Dark Lord.”

Before Severus could speak another word, Harry’s already drawn his wand and has it pressed to Severus’ throat. The look on Harry’s face is nothing short of vicious. “Never underestimate me, Severus Snape. I have not served faithfully as the Dark Lord’s second for all these years for  _ nothing _ . I could end you in a hundred ways without lifting my wand once. With my wand out like this… well, I can do so much worse. Do  _ not  _ presume you can threaten  _ me _ .”

“I came to this school to see which side you were truly loyal to. The Dark Lord had his suspicions that you were Dumbledore’s man and now I see that this is true. You were never on our side at all, were you, Severus?” As Harry speaks, he gestures with his free hand, summoning the chair behind Severus’ desk to him. Forcefully, and without letting his wand slip from its position, Harry pushes the older man into the chair and then binds him with a flick of his wand.  

That done, Harry returns his wand to its holster with an unpleasant looking smile. 

Severus, for his part, has yet to show a smidgen of fear. If this is because he truly feels no fear or he just has a very good poker face, Harry knows not. Either way it matters not. Harry isn’t trying to elicit fear out of the man. Harry wants to see if Severus can be swayed back to the side of the dark or if he will have to be disposed of before he can threaten the Dark Lord’s cause any further. 

“You will answer my questions.” Harry says, and it’s not a question but a statement. If Harry has to torture to get the answers he seeks, then it shall be done without hesitation. 

“Yes,” Severus bites out, but he looks pained to do so. Harry hopes this grates his nerves for all the extra work he now has to put in.

“Are you a spy for the light side?” Harry demands.

“Yes.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, his face scrunching slightly in anger. “How long have you been a spy for the light side?”

Severus is silent for a long while. It isn’t until Harry draws his wand again that he speaks. “Since the Dark Lord decided to seek out the Potters.”

“Why?” And this time, it’s not anger on Harry’s face, but curiousity. Everyone knows of Severus’ dislike of James Potter. It’s unclear to Harry why Severus would care if he was hurt. 

“Because I did not wish to see Lily killed. I asked the Dark Lord to spare her and he did not. You survived, and she did not. And for her sake, I have tried to keep you alive.” And there’s something Harry can’t decipher in Severus’ dark eyes. 

“And yet you’d wish to see me killed by Dumbledore?” Harry muses, but it’s not truly a question meant to be answered.

Severus answers anyways. “I do not believe Dumbledore would hurt you.”

“You’d be wrong,” Harry returns easily, once again holstering his wand. “For neither can live while the other survives, my dear professor. For the Dark Lord to fall, I too must fall, and Dumbledore would happily sacrifice one for the greater good of the wizarding world, and you surely must know that. After all, doesn’t Dumbledore make these sort of sacrifices all the time in your little Order?”

Severus doesn’t respond. He looks thoughtful more than anything. Harry continues on. Severus is thinking, but that’s not enough. “So you played whatever part you thought would play to your wishes the best. That doesn’t please me, Severus. If you’d just been loyal to our Lord, I’d have never had to come here at all, you know. Now I have to clean up your mess. The question is… do I have to deal with you, or are you going stay loyal to the dark this time?”

“I will be loyal to the Dark Lord,” Severus answers, voice even and calm.

Harry smiles sweetly. “Those are pretty words, Severus. Unfortunately, I don’t believe you mean them. You played both sides for years.” Slowly, Harry’s wand slides back into his palm. Severus wisely chooses not to speak as Harry circles around him. “I am disappointed, really. After the Dark Lord tried so hard to spare my mother, you still would cast away your loyalty.”

“What do you mean he tried to spare Lily?” And for the first time, Harry sees Severus’ mask well and truly slip.

“I mean just that, Severus. Did you know that when the Dark Lord went to sway the Dementors to our side, he brought me? That day I learned that I simply… don’t get along with Dementors. See, they draw on my memories of my parents’ deaths. And I hear our Lord speak to her, and he tells her to step aside three times, tells her that she doesn’t have to die if she’ll just move, and three times, she refuses. The chance was given, but she begged for the Dark Lord to take her instead. What else could have been done?” Harry’s voice is soft, almost as though he feels compassion for Severus. He does not-- Harry has long since gotten over his parents’ deaths, for holding on to that does nothing for him but make him long for something he can never have. But Harry wishes to play on the man’s feelings as much as he can.

“The Dark Lord… listened to me?” Surprise is clear in Severus’ voice, his eyes wide, disbelieving.

I’ve gotten through Severus’ mask, Harry thinks with no small amount of satisfaction. He nods. “He heard your plea and tried to give you what you wanted. And why would he not? You had been loyal until that point. He has always rewarded those who were loyal.”

“And he has protected you?” Severus muses. 

Harry has no need for protection. Harry can take care of himself quite well at this point. But that’s not what Harry needs to say to win Severus over. No. Harry smiles slightly and nods. “Yes, the Dark Lord has kept me safe.”

Severus is silent for a moment, and then he speaks. “I will follow the Dark Lord.” This time, there’s emotion in the man’s voice. This time, Harry believes him.

“You will swear a vow on your magic,” Harry says. He may believe Severus means what he says but he will not risk it. 

“I, Severus Snape, swear upon my magic to follow the oath of loyalty I took when I recieved the Dark Mark.” Severus says, voice returning to its original, even tone. His eyes glow for a moment, and Harry knows the vow has taken place.

He draws his wand and swipes it over the ropes binding Severus. The ropes fall to the ground, and Harry returns his wand to his holster and takes a seat in front of Severus’ desk. “Let’s talk about why I’m here, Severus.”

Severus returns his seat to the desk, and sits down, and together, Harry and Severus begin discussing Lord Voldemort’s plans for the Order of the Phoenix.

\---

The next day, Harry wakes and begins to dress for the day. The robes are not of the quality he’s used to, and he wants to whine, for they are far less comfortable. But instead of complaining to himself, he settles for braiding his hair and tying it with a silken ribbon. At least he still has this small comfort, he thinks as he grabs his first year transfiguration book. He’s not going to have fun pretending to be incompetent, he thinks. At least transfiguration, as he found little need for it at Grayside Manor and thus never bothered to learn much of it, is one of his worst subjects , so there won’t be too much pretending. 

Still, first year spells seem like they’d be rather boring. Harry knows he can do simple things like turn a matchstick into a needle. That’s just a simple matter of will; he doesn’t need an incantation for that. 

He heads down to the Great Hall, perking up slightly when he realizes he’s the first to arrive for breakfast. He is glad not to have to make small talk for the time being. He takes his seat, in between McGonagall’s and Dumbledore’s, and starts to pile generous servings of food on his plate. 

He starts eating the hard boiled eggs as Severus comes in and sits down and starts serving himself tea without so much as a greeting to Harry. Harry’s not sure if that’s because Severus is still playing his role, or if it’s because he’s simply not a morning person-- either seem possible. 

Soon, Flitwick arrives, greeting Harry with a chipper good morning, and Harry returns the favor. They strike up a small conversation on some basic first year charms, but most of their focus remains on their breakfast, a fact Harry is grateful for as he doesn’t particularly enjoy making small talk at all, and enjoys it even less early in the morning when he doesn’t feel like pretending he likes people. 

He misses Grayside Manor.

He misses his snakes. 

He misses his elves. 

But he promised he would do this for Marvolo, and so he shall stay strong and keep going, for all that he and Marvolo have been fighting for. 

\---

The summer passes uneventfully. Harry dutifully plays his part, acts the part of the eager to please, desperate for positive attention child. He cannot quite tone down his knowledge enough to avoid advancing quickly through his private studies with the professors, but this doesn’t trouble him. After all, he is supposed to be the light side’s precious savior-- surely they will want a capable, albeit malleable, wizard, not a bumbling squib. 

Dumbledore makes the decision to place Harry in with the fifth year classes, despite McGonagall’s complaints that she has not had the time to get him as caught up as she would like. As the old man explained it, Harry should apparently be with children of his own age. Harry wonders if there is an ulterior motive for this-- there is always an ulterior motive behind everything Dumbledore does-- Harry will figure out Dumbledore’s motives for this choice soon enough.

For the time being however, his focus ought to be on figuring out how to convince the hat not to place him in Slytherin-- for where else could he possibly go? He wonders if he can threaten the hat into letting him go into another house. So absorbed in his thoughts, he almost doesn’t notice when McGonagall calls his name to be sorted. 

If it hadn’t been for the way the students all burst out with curious questions, he would have missed his cue. 

He makes his way up to the stool, and takes a seat, and McGonagall drops the hat on his head.

“Now, now, you don’t need to threaten me-- calm yourself, young man, and we’ll have a rational discussion.” The hat sounds amused. It’s strange to think that a hat can be amused. “You really ought to be in Slytherin, you know, and you’d be much happier there.”

_ Yes, well, it’s not about where I’d be happiest, _ Harry thinks. A scowl crosses his face for a split second before he forces himself to relax.

“Your loyalty to your cause is quite admirable, you know. Better be... ” And the moment the hat tells Harry this, he knows where the hat is about to send him, and his suspicions are immediately proved correct when the hat declares to the Great Hall: “Hufflepuff!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I decided a time skip was appropriate. After all, it's not very entertaining to sit through a bunch of old classes that we can read about in the books, especially when it's not too terribly important to the fic. It would have been nothing but filler. Perhaps I will include some of the lessons in the next flashback chapter ( but I don't plan on writing one of those until another few chapters have passed, so we shall see where that goes. ). If you enjoyed this chapter ( or if you hated it ), please leave a comment so I know what I'm doing right ( or wrong )! ❤


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